A Series of Bird Calls
by Missi Marie
Summary: 4: Post-Mockingjay. Things were better now, by far, but sometimes we still seemed a little broken. It was okay, though, because if we were two broken people apart, we became one whole person together. Katniss/Peeta
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Close Your Eyes and Pretend I'm By Your Side  
><strong>Author<strong>: Missi Marie  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T (slightly suggestive, but only if you already have a dirty mind xP)  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Very mildly suggestive, but there is bare thigh xD  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Peeta, Katniss  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Post-Mockingjay. This is how their mornings went.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I own nothing.  
><strong>Author Notes:<strong> Check out "Waking Up With The Wolves" by The Black Maria for the song whose lyrics are the title to this story. It's awesome.

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><p>She was perched on the bed in only the oversized shirt she wore for sleep. Sipping at the tea she had made—because this morning was like every other morning before it—she watched Peeta as he slept heavily, his terrors of the night passed hours ago.<p>

She watched his breathing, because sometimes she worried it would just stop one day.

It was quickly turning into late morning and Katniss had been up for hours—her tea had cooled to nothing more than cold, flavored water—but Peeta continued to sleep and Katniss continued to watch him. It was okay like this, because it gave her piece of mind. As long as he was sleeping and breathing and lying right there within reach, things were going to be okay.

They had to be okay.

It wasn't until he stirred that panic began to set in, as it always inevitably did. Groggily, Peeta moved, stretched slightly. Automatically, his hand moved to the mattress directly beside him. When he found it empty, Katniss could see his entire body stiffen.

She wanted to reach out and touch his hand, to let him know she was still there, but the panic that was welling inside her prevented it. She couldn't do it.

His eyes snapped open and he looked up wildly. When they found her, only about a foot away, still perched motionlessly on the side of the bed, his muscles relaxed and his eyelids drooped momentarily.

All he needed was to see her there.

"It's late." His voice was rough with lingering sleep.

"Not very," Katniss replied. The sunlight streaming in through the window was still pale and hadn't filled the room yet.

"How long have you been up?"

It was probably subconscious, his hand moving, reaching out to find her. All he needed was to feel her there with him.

"Not long," she mumbled, cheeks getting just the tiniest bit pink as his hand found purchase on her bare leg where her shirt had hiked up when she sat.

"No hunting?" He asked every morning.

More often than not now, she responded, "No."

He opened his eyes again, staring up at her. "What are you thinking?" All he needed was to hear her voice...

There was silence for a moment, but it couldn't last. Peeta needed to hear her, and after the war, after everything, she had promised to give him _whatever_ he needed. "I worry," she confessed, staring at the mug clasped in her hand rather than at him.

"That I won't be here when you wake up?"

His hand was splayed on her bare upper thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles on her skin. This was his fear, she knew. That one day he would wake to find his bed empty. To discover that this had all been some kind of dream. That their life together was only in his fragile, often broken mind and she had actually died in the war, in the Games. From starvation. From despair. From the gunshot. From the fire. From the muts. From the explosion. There were so many times where she had been on the cliff of death, looking out over the edge, all but ready to fall over and never come back up. It had often been Peeta to pull her back, to save her, and she knew one of his worst fears was that one of those times he _hadn't_ managed to save her.

He screamed it in his dreams every night.

But this, though worrisome and terrifying in its own right, wasn't what made her sit up early in the mornings and just watch him sleep, unable to tear her eyes away, because of a mix of fascination, hope, and dread. No, it was a fear that had, just once, come true.

Katniss shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I worry that one day you're going to wake up and look at me lying beside you... and you're going to be disgusted by what you see."

He squeezed her thigh, a rebuttal already forming in his throat.

She surged forward before his words could reach the air, suddenly needing him to understand why she was so scared. Why, after everything they had seen—together and apart—it was _this_ that terrified her above all else.

"That you finally figure it out... That I'm not worth all the trouble that comes with me."

And with all her heart, she believed that statement.

A flit of pain crossed his face, his hand gripped her thigh suddenly fierce, and she knew he was thinking of the hijacked memories that nearly tore them apart. He took a deep breath. The kiss he placed on the skin next to his hand was heated and just a little desperate.

"I'm always waiting for that," Katniss admitted shakily. "Because I wouldn't even be able to argue that you're wrong."

He kissed her once again.

"You'll wait forever then," he muttered into her skin. "Because that _can't_ be true." The desperation when he emphasized _can't_ spoke more about his need to keep her than even his insistent touches and hot kisses.

"Peeta," she whispered. It was a heady relief to hear his words. To know that this all-consuming need wasn't just coming from her. Another kiss reached her skin and it warmed away the icy fear that lodged in her heart. Again and again he pressed hot kisses to her, finding any bare skin he could, kissing over her shirt when it would go no higher than the swell of her breast. He reached her collarbone, his hand having slid up her thigh.

Her cheeks were flushed crimson with hints of passion and heat. Her head tipped back as he placed his lips at her neck. Clumsily, she reached her hand beside her to put down the mug of tea in her hand. She missed the edge of the table and it crashed to the floor.

Neither of them noticed.

"Katniss," he whispered against her lips. All he needed was a kiss...

Then he drew her to him, his hands sliding to her hips and moved her down onto the bed beneath him.

This was how their mornings went. Apprehension, worry, and then, finally, warmth.

Just warmth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Do We Believe In Love At All?  
><strong>Author<strong>: Missi Marie  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T (because it's the HG and that entitles it a slightly higher rating)  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Kissing? Does that deserve a warning? Dunno, but it gets one!  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Peeta, Katniss  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Post-Mockingjay. Katniss wants something, but she's a little clueless about taking it.  
><strong>Author Notes:<strong> So, the chapters are all kinda linked I suppose, but they don't make a story. They're just a bunch of scenes right now that are all Post-Mockingjay. Check out "Kingdom" by David Gahan for the song whose lyrics are the title to this story.

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><p>She bit her lip, uncertain and unable to look at his face, a blush gracing her own. "Peeta?"<p>

"Mm?" he asked, glancing at her curiously, always careful now to keep the intensity from his face.

"Can I..." she hesitated, looking up from her long lashes to see his expression. "Can I kiss you?"

At this he turned fully to face her, eyebrows shooting up on his face, every bit looking the part of shocked. Then, slowly, unsure, his lips broke into a smile. Almost teasing, even. "Like you even have to ask?"

She worried her teeth into his bottom lip again. "Yes?" she said it as a question, checking if it was the right answer. "Maybe?"

At this Peeta seemed to have a momentary break—just a small one—where his hands gripped the counter too hard, knuckles white. But it was a quick, clean break, over almost as soon as it had begun. His smile barely even faltering.

When it was done, and Peeta was as close to that boy with the bread who had loved Katniss from the day he heard her sing as he would ever be again, that was when they could consider what Katniss was asking. The fact that she _was_ asking for it at all. That maybe the Games had brought with them something that, once set into motion, was irreversible, even in the wake of death and destruction and the brokenness of two war-torn children.

He waited. If she wanted this, she would have to make the move for it. It had to come from her. There had been too many times before—shiny memories—where he couldn't be sure that she had wanted it. Where he wondered if he had somehow stolen something important and innocent that could never be gotten or given back. He had to know now for certain that it was her, _all_ her, that wanted him.

And oh, did he want her to want him.

Still, she hesitated. Minutes passed since her abrupt question laced with so many implications. Slowly, clumsily, she moved closer to him. She reached out, but then seemed to reconsider, letting her hands fall back towards her side. But before they could fall to hang loosely, she would bring them back up as though reaching towards him, but they never made it. She moved closer again, tilted her head up. He leaned down to accommodate her, but it didn't help. She still fluttered uncertainly in a very un-Katniss way.

Finally, she let out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't..." She shook her head. "The only experience I really had was in the... in the Games." It was harder to say some days; easier on others.

Peeta forced out a laugh. "Are you telling me your first kiss was on camera?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. But it wasn't fierce. There was still tenderness in this moment, and Peeta was grateful.

"Yeah, well," she sniffed indignantly.

At this he grinned widely. "So, _I_ was your first kiss?"

She scowled in annoyance, but the blush that coated her cheeks told him the truth.

"I was," Peeta said with a degree of pride and happiness.

Throwing her arms down in frustration, she groaned. "Yes, okay? I... it's just... I've only had two kisses with Gale."

He didn't know where she was going with this. The mention of Gale was always a sore subject—for both of them, though for very different reasons—and this didn't seem like the best of times to bring it up.

A smile hid the darkness and anger that boiled at the idea of _Gale's_ lips touching hers, even though Peeta knew he had had so many more kisses with Katniss than Gale ever did or ever would.

"Well, in that case, I owe him," Peeta said bright and cheery, fake though it might have been.

Katniss frowned. "What? Owe him?"

Peeta grinned. "Two punches. It's only fair."

A laugh escaped Katniss' lips and he knew he had played this right. No fighting, no arguing, no breaking down, no tears. They were still okay, they were still coping. Things were fine. She wasn't leaving him.

"I'm sure _he'll_ see it that way, too," she returned.

He nodded casually. "Of course. Hell, he'll probably _give_ me the shots."

She laughed again. "Peeta, you're crazy if you think—"

He didn't give her the chance to finish. In a single breath, he closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers, soft and tender, only hinting at the passion beneath them. His hand reached up to cup her cheek, feeling the warmth flooding her soft skin, ignoring the scar tissue that lingered just a little lower than his fingers.

Katniss' eyes had fluttered closed as she was enveloped into the kiss. When he pulled away, she leaned forward trying to keep him close. He allowed a real smile to cross his face as he felt that moment of pride. She _wanted_ him. Finally. After years, after war, after torture and insanity. After losing _everything_ they found the only thing he had ever wanted.

For a scared moment, he let himself revel in the idea that she wanted him completely. That she _loved_ him.

"Peeta."

Her voice was as soft as a breath. His focus returned to her, noticing her hooded eyes, the soft blush on her cheeks, her body angled toward him and leaning closer... Taking the invitation, he moved in again, glad that he hadn't waited for her to make the first move.

Their lips had just touched again, when—

_Knock, knock._

Peeta let out a loud groan of frustration. "You have got to be _kidding_ me!" he exclaimed, not nearly as mad as he'd like to be. The euphoria of the kiss couldn't be forced from his system so quickly. "Now? Like, _right now_?"

Katniss laughed, a little closer to a giggle than usual, her breath coming in quick gasps. The idea of ignoring the knocking and sweeping her into his arms, pressing their lips and bodies together tightly for the rest of his life made its way through his head quickly. It sounded pretty good to him.

_Knock, knock._

"Damnit."

He moved to answer the door reluctantly, reaching his hand back, hoping and praying that she would take it and go with him. That he wouldn't have to let her go so quickly. She didn't disappoint him. Her fingers laced through his loosely and she followed him.

With a relieved sigh, he swallowed and made it to the door.

"You know, I hope it's Gale on the other end," he told her seriously. Her eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Just so I can owe him _three_ punches."

She shook her head at him, but there was still a smile playing at her lips.

"Actually, this might be worth _five_ punches."

Katniss let him rant, and he enjoyed the moment where they could joke and kid without falling into depression or a range of guilt that came from being able to laugh when those they loved could not. The door itself had been inconsequential. But, then, neither had been expecting the person on the other end.

"Paylor."

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><p><em>AN: I have no idea why that was the ending, but it was. xP_


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Did I Ever Love You?  
><strong>Author<strong>: Missi Marie  
><strong>Rating: <strong>K+  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Angst and Mockingjay spoilers  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Gale, Katniss, mentions of others  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Katniss/Peeta, sorta Katniss/Gale  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Post-Mockingjay. The war is over and the victors have pulled together the pieces of their lives. Here, they come together to celebrate the next generation, but Gale can't let go of the past. He needs an answer. A real answer.  
><strong>Author Notes: <strong>So you know, Kember and Aiden are Katniss and Peeta's kids. Haley is Gale's (he's a boy xP), Annalesca is Gale's wife, and everyone is getting together for Kember's birthday. Check out "Did I Ever" by Leoni, because it's awesome and I used the lyrics as the song title. Reviews are always encouraged!

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><p>Kember's birthday always drew in a bit of a crowd. Annie and her boy, Finnley, came early. Annie always wanted to help with the set up, so I shooed her to work with Peeta in the bakery. It was good for her to stay busy. Fin took off with the kids, taking Kember off Aiden's hands for a bit so he could figure out how to ask out the pretty girl with the wheat colored hair. Mother usually came, but an accident in Three held her up. She sent her best, saying she probably wouldn't make it. Haymitch, as sober as possible, managed to stumble around for a while before passing out on the bench on the back porch. Johanna, gruff as ever, came and joined him a little later.<p>

I thought I saw Haymitch's geese taunting them earlier.

Cards came in the mail from people I gave little more than passing thought to these days. People like Effie Trinket, Plutarch, my favorite frivolous prep team, a couple from people I didn't even recognize, and even one from Paylor.

Most of those sat on the counter unopened.

Then, finally, came the Hawthorne's. It was always just the boys, though the invitation was grudgingly sent to the Mrs. Hawthorne as well. Thankfully, there was always a civil excuse to explain her absence, and I was always happy to receive it.

Haley immediately went to find Kember after a quick peck on my cheek and an award winning grin. He was a lively one and I loved to see him whenever he managed to visit. His father lingered with me in the kitchen and we managed a slightly awkward hello. Things with Gale were better now, but not perfect. They would never be as they once were.

"Annalesca didn't come with you?" I asked politely. We weren't great friends, Gale's wife and myself, but she was a part of his life now and without her Gale's son wouldn't exist. I could be civil with her for that at least.

Gale shook his head and scratched at the stubble growing on his chin. "No, she couldn't make it. But she, uh, wishes her best."

I gave a short laugh. "Okay."

He shrugged and grinned at me. "Like you wanted her here anyway."

I grinned back. No, I didn't really.

We fell into silence, only a little estranged. This felt like one of those stolen moments that we had once shared so frequently. But things had changed and we were different people. Growing up does that.

After several long moments, he spoke. "This is going to sound terrible, awful, really," Gale admitted guiltily. "But I miss it sometimes, the old District Twelve."

I shook my head. "It's not terrible. It was home. You lived there for nineteen years."

I lived there for seventeen. And then it was gone.

"But it wasn't a good place," he reminded me. "We were poor, starving. Everyday was a struggle just to survive, just to eat. I shouldn't miss that."

"You don't miss that," I corrected. "You miss the people. However we were separated by class or streets or food, we were like a family. All of us."

Gale didn't argue with me. He knew I was right and maybe had even brought it up just to hear me correct him. Gale was like that sometimes. Often he knew the right answer, he just wanted _me_ to be the one to say it. I never knew why.

"Do you ever miss it?"

I frowned. Did I miss Twelve? Painful memories of soot-covered streets and dirty faces swam before my eyes and I thought I might slip into panic. I pushed them away and answered as honestly as I could. "I don't think about the old district much anymore."

Gale nodded slowly, thinking about something. He hesitated, not sure if he wanted to say what he was really getting at, but whatever had changed between us we were still _us_. And the old us had been able to share anything and everything. Something of that still remained.

"I really miss _you_," he finally confessed.

I sighed. Gale and I had drifted over the years, ever since... Ever since the war. We had won, but it came at a high cost. Gale was part of that cost and I mourned our shattered friendship on days when I couldn't help but think of it.

He had spent years trying to talk to me, to write or call, but I shut him out. I couldn't separate him from the events that took away my baby sister. It had taken a long time to close off those wounds enough to reestablish contact with him. Even then, our conversations had been short and often aggressive in ways they had never been before. A wall had come up between us and although we had broken down most of it, a jagged layer of brick foundation remained. I tripped over it every time we were together, every time we spoke.

It wasn't his fault, I told myself, but I still blamed him.

"Don't, Gale," I told him quietly.

He made a frustrated sound, but pushed forward. "I know, I know," he told me a little bitterly. "I'm married, you're married. We have kids and I wouldn't trade Haley for the world. And you know I love your kids, too. It's just..."

There was always something else with Gale. I knew what it was, but I didn't want to deal with it. We had already been moving past this for years now; it was too late to go back, and now, I just didn't want to. I was _happy_ with how things were, even if there were moments where I thought I might trade it all for a chance to rewrite history.

But then Kember's face would pop into my head, her smile so wide I thought it might swallow me whole, and I knew I wouldn't be able to do it. I could never figure out what kind of a person that made me. Peeta always told me it just made me human.

"You've made your choice," Gale continued. "And that's... that. But I have to know."

I braced myself.

"Katniss, did I ever stand a chance?"

A chance? I thought of the stolen kisses I shared with Gale when we were both still on the verge of adulthood. I thought of the time we spent in the woods together, those moments stolen as well. I thought of the promises we made each other to always save our families, to provide for them when the other couldn't. I thought of the reaping and the thing that he always wanted me to remember, but never had the time to say.

And then I thought of Peeta.

"You know I care for you, Gale," I whispered, not looking at him.

"That's not what I'm asking."

No, it wasn't. Why was it that these two boys, the two most important boys in my life, were always asking the hardest questions and wanting more answers than I could give?

"I don't know. I chose Peeta. I'm with Peeta. I'm happy."

He ran a hand through his dark hair, darker than mine now. He spent more time inside, tinkering with traps and toys and inventions that I didn't want to know about, while I spent my time playing in the woods with my children.

"What if there was no Peeta?"

My heart seized. No Peeta? A memory of waking up in a hospital bed, Gale next to me telling me about District 12, without Peeta flashed in front of my eyes. Another of Peeta's cold, angry face. The feel of Peeta's hands wrapped around my throat choking the life from me was so intense I thought it might be happening right then and there. The moment of realization when I knew what Snow's most powerful weapon against me was.

I reminded myself to breathe. All of that was past now. We were safe. Peeta was here, alive, with me. He still loved me; I needed that.

"I don't... I can't..." I didn't know how to make Gale understand.

"What if you had never gone to the Games and Peeta had never been called?" I had a feeling he wanted to ask what if Peeta _had_ been called and simply never came back, but I was thankful he didn't voice it. "What if it had only ever been you and me?"

Gale and me. Out there in the woods, fighting for our families... What if things had turned out like that? Would I have ever gotten up the nerve to talk to Peeta? To repay my debt to him? Would he have ever managed to confess his true feelings for me? Would I have been able to fall into Gale's open arms and accept him as friend _and_ lover?

I tried it out. We had kissed before. Shared intense moments where I thought maybe I would have chosen Gale if I had ever properly been given a choice. But the Games had changed so much—had changed _me_ in the end—and I wasn't sure how to separate myself from them now.

But for the sake of giving him a real answer, I tried.

Before the Games I had been someone else. A girl focused on survival alone. How to save my... how to save Prim. How to keep my mother going. How to keep us from starving day to day. Then it was how to keep my family _and_ Gale's family from starving. Then it was how to repay Peeta...

Even distancing myself from him, he was still there in the background.

I remembered not wanting a family. No husband, no kids. I didn't want to fall into depression like my mother and I didn't think I could ever handle the constant terror that came with loving Prim like a daughter instead of a sister again. I had decided a long time ago that I would never marry. That was before Peeta and it continued on even when Gale had become an option.

My heart sank.

If I were being truly honest—with myself as much as Gale—then the answer was obvious: No, Gale had never stood a chance. Because it wasn't until I was forced to consider a life with Peeta that I ever let my desires wander to a family. If I hadn't gotten myself thrown into the Games and Peeta hadn't gotten us thrown into a strange lover's tryst, I would have been alone forever. Gale couldn't have changed that, even if I had wanted to choose him.

I looked over at him, but he wasn't looking at me anymore. He must have read it on my face—I was a terrible liar—because his expression was hard, his jaw clenched, and his eyes... His eyes held pain that only I ever seemed to cause.

"No," I whispered. "You never had a chance."

I would have explained to him why, but it didn't matter. In the end, all that mattered was that I loved Peeta, the only one I ever could truly love was Peeta, and reaping or no, that couldn't have been changed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Sorry, Love, I'm a Little Bit Broken  
><strong>Author<strong>: Missi Marie  
><strong>Rating: <strong>K+  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Mockingjay spoilers (a li'l bit) and... cuddling?  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch, the kids...  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Katniss/Peeta  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Post-Mockingjay. Things were better now, by far, but sometimes we still seemed a little broken. It was okay, though, because if we were two broken people apart, we became one whole person together.  
><strong>Author Notes: <strong>The bunnies. Won't. Stop. So this is for you, courtesy of them. I suggest you feed them carrots... So you know, Kember and Aiden are Katniss and Peeta's kids. Song obviously belongs to Taylor Swift and is epictastically awesomeness. If you haven't listened, then go. Now. Listen. Seriously. It's awesome. Anyway. I hope you guys enjoy, because I was supposed to be doing homework...

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><p>I watched Aiden from the porch. He was in the clearing talking with a cute, sandy haired girl that belonged to one of the families that had eventually moved back into District 12. They were joking and laughing—flirting, I thought, although my attentiveness to such things was low. Next to me Haymitch sat slumped in one of the old chairs we had set up. He was frumpy and getting old, the scruff on his face more gray than gold now, thinner than it once had been. His face was lined, although not unpleasantly so. Age had been as good to him as anyone, though drink had worked against him. His eyes were drooping—he still drank more than he ought to—but I could tell he was alert. He too was watching Aiden's foray into the world of love.<p>

My hands fidgeted in my lap. I itched to go and do something—hunt maybe—but I made myself sit there and pay attention. This calm quiet life that had wormed its way slowly into my world was what I had fought for and I was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

Besides, I wanted to know the details of Aiden's exchange to share with Peeta later. He would want to know.

After several slow minutes I noticed Kember out of the corner of my eye. She was walking down the hill, obviously from town. She was covered in flour, apron still tied around her waist and wild, curly brown hair pulled back into a mess ponytail. I remembered that she often went to help Peeta in the bakery and had probably chosen to do so today.

When she reached the porch, she leaned on the railing, facing me. I looked over to her and noticed her troubled expression.

"What's wrong?" I asked her quickly, already feeling my muscles tense.

_Peeta was hurt. There was a fire. Peacekeepers came. They took him away. Paylor has been overthrown. Peace was broken. A war has begun—_

A thousand ridiculous and impossible scenarios played through my head. I had to take a slow breath to remind myself that the war was over. Peacekeepers were the good guys now. No one was hurt. No one was dying. We were at peace.

The war was over.

Kember wrinkled her nose, indecision plain on her face. She was like me, too expressive for her own good.

"Nothing," she finally said. An obvious lie.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Kember."

She let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her face. "Dad said not to say anything..." She let it trail off, but that was all I needed to hear. I knew what had happened.

Immediately I rose from my comfortable seat on the bench. I could feel Haymitch watching me, although me did little more than breath in his chair.

"Where are you going?" Kember asked me, a little worried. She already knew where I was going.

"To the bakery."

"Mom, dad will know I said something," she pointed out a little distressed, but not exactly using it as an argument to stop me. No one tried to stop me from doing anything anymore, not even my own children.

I shrugged, stepping off the steps onto the cool grass. "You didn't say anything," I reminded her.

Her lips twitched a bit and I knew a smile was making its way onto her face. "Tell that to dad."

"I will."

And I left, knowing that Aiden would continue his flirting and Kember would make a few snide comments to Haymitch who would huff a little and that they would all be fine, because Haymitch wasn't going to let anything happen to them. They were his family, too, now.

* * *

><p>When I reached the bakery, there weren't any customers. Not surprising. Business was good, but there were still very few residents here in Twelve. Most likely, they had already come and gone earlier in the day, or would show up later in the afternoon before the bakery closed. It was just after lunchtime now, so things would be slow.<p>

I moved around to the back quietly, the smell of fresh baked bread filling my nostrils. I inhaled deeply. The smells here always comforted me.

The ovens were still warm, but I noticed that nothing was baking. Peeta was standing at a counter off to the side, hands resting on the table firmly, head down, back to me. He was tense, agitated. Something was wrong.

I frowned, but didn't go to him. Instead, I hoisted myself up to sit on the counter opposite him. I waited.

After several long moments, I saw his shoulders loosen slightly. He sighed. "How long are you going to just sit there?"

"I thought it was best to wait until you noticed me."

"What if I didn't notice you for hours?" he inquired, amusement in his voice.

I shrugged, although he still hadn't turned to face me. "I can be patient."

He let out a laugh and shook his head. Finally, he glanced over his shoulder at me, his blue eyes crinkled in a smile. "All good hunters are, eh?"

I smiled at him. "Yep."

He straightened up and turned to lean with his back against the counter so that he could face me fully. Silence filled the air as we just watched one another.

"Want to tell me what's wrong?" I asked.

He frowned slightly and ran a flower-coated hand through his hair. "It's nothing."

I surprised him with a laugh. "Funny. That's what Kember said."

Shaking his head, he gave up. "I... I had an episode."

That's what we called them, _episodes_. It sounded almost benign. Neutral. Unimportant. A subtle word for a terrifying thing. An _episode_ meant an attack. A moment where Peeta forgot what was real and what wasn't. Who his friends were and who his enemies had been. Who was responsible, who was the victim.

Sometimes they meant he forgot he loved me.

I fidgeted. I knew this was the thing that Kember wasn't supposed to tell me, so I wasn't surprised. But I still hated hearing it. I hated that he still had them, that he was still broken in some small way that I couldn't fix. I hated that he was still hurting.

"It wasn't bad," he added quickly, probably noticing my expression. "Short, over in seconds, really."

I nodded. I wasn't mad at _him. _There was nothing to be mad at anymore. Those at fault had been punished, killed. Many of them by my own two hands. There was nothing more to be done about it in that regard. Anger got me nowhere.

"Are you okay?" I asked carefully.

He took a moment to respond. It wasn't as simple a question as it appeared. There were a dozen different meanings behind it, although the only one I really cared about was: Are you still Peeta and are you still okay?

He shook his head. "Yes," he replied only somewhat unconvinced. He ran a hand through his hair again, the curls coated in flour. "I just... I need to _do_ something."

Of course. The episodes were bad, no matter how short they were, because they lingered with him for the rest of the day. After an attack, Peeta always found himself unfocused and a little aimless. I tried to help as best I could, but I could never fully understand what had happened to Peeta. Torture. Hijacking. Losing himself. Finding himself.

All I could really do was be there for him in whatever way he needed me.

"Close the bakery for the day," I told him.

He shook his head, "No. I need to do something with my hands."

I looked skeptically at the lump of dough on the table. He had obviously been working at it for longer than he needed to and it was doubtful that it was going to turn into anything edible by the end of the day. Peeta wasn't focusing.

"Close the bakery," I repeated, just a touch of firmness to my voice.

He frowned, debating it, and I knew that Kember's expressions came from him, not me.

I slipped off the counter with cat-like grace, silent as ever, and walked over to him. I touched his knuckles with the pads of my fingers. They were covered in flour, my fingertips making tiny tracks revealing the skin beneath. He sucked in a breath, then turned his hand over to take my hand in his.

"Peeta," I said gently. "Baking isn't working today. Close the bakery. We'll do something else."

His free hand reached up to brush a stray strand of hair behind my ear, fingers trailing across my cheek. He leaned his forehead down against mine and just breathed for a moment. I waited patiently for him to realize I was right.

It didn't take long.

"What should we do?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Whatever you want. We can go home; you can paint something pretty."

"Okay."

He didn't resist as I tugged him away from the counter, the lump of dough left unmolded.

* * *

><p>He sat staring at the blank canvas, paintbrush in his hand and paints at his side. He had been like that for the last ten minutes, frowning and just trying to <em>focus<em> on something. Nothing came.

I watched him cautiously, hoping that something would just strike him and he would get to work on something spectacular. It is not in my nature to create pretty things. I don't do art. Those are things from Peeta's world and I don't fully understand the creative process that results in them. So I'm not much help here. Really, I'm just present for the sake of being present. Moral support, companionship. I'm just a reminder that he is not here alone. And I think that's important, because I know that there were days, after our first Hunger Games, that he spent alone in Victor's Village painting horrifically beautiful scenes from the Games.

I don't want him to think he's back there now.

So now I sit on the old couch that we eventually dragged into his painting room. We got it, because Peeta never liked me sitting on the floor, and I wasn't good with standing still for hours on end.

Finally, frustration got the best of Peeta. He threw his paintbrush down and roughly raked his hands through his hair. "This isn't working," he told me.

I twitched. Calmly, I reminded myself that he wasn't referring to our arduous journey to fixing each other. That he wasn't talking about the relationship that had weathered the storms of our past and somehow survived in the end.

He wasn't talking about _us_.

I got up from my sitting position and walked over to him. Carefully—because he was tense and a lot of times his episodes were about me—I put my hands on his taut shoulders. Immediately, he exhaled in relief. My hands slipped down his chest and wrapped around him, my chin resting on his shoulder. I breathed him in, the scent of paint mixing with bread and spice and whatever it was that was just _Peeta_.

Quietly, I began to sing.

"_I remember tears streaming down your face_

_When I said, I'll never let you go_

_When all those shadows almost killed your light_

_I remember you said, Don't leave me here alone_

_But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight"_

His hand reached up to cover mine where they were clasped together. He closed his eyes and just listened.

"_Just close your eyes_

_The sun is going down_

_You'll be alright_

_No one can hurt you now_

_Come morning light_

_You and I'll be safe and sound_

_Don't you dare look out your window darling_

_Everything's on fire_

_The war outside our door keeps raging on_

_Hold onto this lullaby_

_Even when the music's gone_

_Just close your eyes_

_The sun is going down_

_You'll be alright_

_No one can hurt you now_

_Come morning light_

_You and I'll be safe and sound_

_Just close your eyes_

_You'll be alright_

_Come morning light,_

_You and I'll be safe and sound..."_

He let me finish the song. Every last note. He always loved to hear me sing, though I didn't do it often. There was always a heaviness for me that came with music. Because it reminded me of my father in the woods, and Prim when she begged for a song, and Rue when she died... Painful things were tied to my voice, but it was different for Peeta. It was beauty to him. It was birds going silent to listen, it was love at first sight, it was comfort and peace. So I sang for him and it wasn't as hard as it used to be.

"Katniss," he said after I fell silent. His eyes were still closed and his hand still gripped both of mine.

"It's okay, Peeta," I told him knowing that even my song couldn't bring inspiration today. "Let's just take a nap."

His lips quirked up. "A nap," he asked, clearly amused.

I scowled a little. "Yes," I said defensively. "A nap."

He laughed, probably more at my tone than my suggestion.

My hands slipped free of his up to his chin so that I could tilt his head back and look at him. He opened his eyes; I stared into twin pools of cerulean.

"Don't you laugh at me, Mister," I warned him, my voice more breathy than I had intended.

His smile lingered. "I would never do that."

I leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his lips, because he was there and I was there and that smile lingered and I could. Just because I could. It was brief and chaste. I pulled away—Peeta didn't like that instinctively, though he let me go easily—and stepped back from him. My hand tugged at his shirt and he got up to follow me.

"Nap," I told him.

He obeyed, more exhausted than he had let on.

I led him down the hall to our bedroom, closing the door behind us. We didn't bother changing beyond kicking off our shoes. Peeta crawled into bed first, collapsing heavily on the pillows. He really was tired and sometimes I wondered at how hard he pushed himself. I thought he did it for me.

After a moment, Peeta lifted his head from the pillows slightly and looked over at me. He reached out his hand.

"Stay with me, Katniss?"

I smiled at him gently—because some days he still looked at me as though he couldn't believe I was really here with him—and took his hand.

"Always."

I crawled in after him. He pulled me tightly to his chest and kissed my forehead. I wrapped my arms around his torso, letting the feeling of comfort wash over me. I was tired, too. Things were better now, by far, but sometimes we still seemed a little broken. It was okay, though, because if we were two broken people apart, we became one whole person together.

I decided that was enough for me.


End file.
